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- Oct 21, 2009
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The People's Commander, and his Lady
By The Gladiator and LingeringDesire
Night was slowly drawing closer. The night sounds slowly becoming more prominent as the day sounds faded with the setting sun. The sunset was a riotous bloom of fiery reds and oranges; however they were not visible through the thick tree cover that covered the slopes of the mountains. A man knelt among those trees. He was oblivious to the beauty of the sunset, for his keen green eyes were trained on the carpet of pine needles before him rather than upwards into the heavens.
Long fingers delved into the soft loam, moving some leaves aside to get a better look at the boot print in the mud. Although heir to the throne and leader of all military forces in the land, this man still felt at home in the woods on his own. This to him was familiar, not the clamor of a battle field command tent, but him and the wilderness.
He knew this feeling came from the 5 years he spent in the military as a scout and ranger. His father had been almost horrified to hear that his son, when told he would have his pick of assignments for his mandatory military service had chosen not to become a knight and live in the lap of luxury. No, this son of the lord Magnus had chosen to serve as a scout in the common army. “Serving our people as just sir Vallon is not what they need and not my calling. I will show them I am no better than they are.”
Near to 10 years later, the much reluctant “Sir Vallon” was now a knight, and military commander, however he still preferred these times, when his men consulted his expertise not as their leader, but as one of them. And indeed, contrary to his father’s beliefs and the people had never known a commander or a man like Vallon. Vallon had never stooped to bragging to his father that was not his way, his actions spoke louder than his words, and the people’s love for their prince, the people’s commander, as they called him was evident.
“Is it not as I said m’lord?” the voice of swiftbird, the scout who had drawn Vallon out of the city broke The quiet of the evening, shattering the peace of Vallon’s inner reverie, his contemplation of what he saw before him.
“Vallon grunted his assent as he considered the track for another moment and then finally he spoke. His voice came out in a rich baritone, smooth and melodic, “Aye, it is not a track from any of our people. It would have taken a skilled ranger or scout to spot the subtle differences in boot treads.” He said, swiftbird’s face brightening at the older man’s compliment. Vallon’s finger traced the boot print as he spoke, “As you can see here, based on the pattern I would say it is Rercarian.” He said referencing a neighboring country, one in which they had been at war with on and off for most of his lifetime. “But whether it is a scout for a prelude to war, or an emissary coming to parley we really cannot say.”
Placing his hands on his knees Vallon rose smoothly with a catlike grace. He stood to his full 6 foot height and wiped the dirt from his hands onto the green and brown trousers he wore, pants designed to help him blend into the forest surrounding him. “You have done good work, and keep me appraised if you see anything.” He ordered clapping the other man on the shoulder. Swiftbird nodded as he watched his commander walk off.
Emerging from the curtain of trees, Vallon found himself overlooking the town and across the way he could see the castle with its spires and turrets. Although he could not see it, he could imagine his best friend’s balcony halfway up the wall facing the town. She would be painting he was sure, an activity that was her favorite pastime, or so she wanted the world to think. On the contrary Vallon suspected her favorite times were when he took her hunting and fishing, got her off the palace grounds and out of her gilded prison. However, these trips were somewhat of a secret, so to the public eye her favorite pastime was painting as befit a proper lady. After all, proper ladies did not stick their thumb down the throat of a river trout to rip out its guts, or Practice knife throwing around a fire eating deer she had just cooked over the open flames. A slight smile twisted Vallon’s lips at those thoughts. Glancing up, Vallon saw how far the sun had sunk in the sky and swore to himself. He was late, and Vallon knew if he did not pick up his pace, even he would not be immune to a tongue lashing from Elia.
Picking up his pace, the young nobleman wondered not for the first time why he had agreed to this. The answer was simple enough, his childhood friend had smiled at him and unable to refuse her anything he had agreed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to learn to dance, I will need to be married someday, and my wife to be will want me to not look a fool.” One might wonder why she had to beg her best friend to practice dancing with her, could she not just use another male, perhaps a potential suitor. The answer to that was of course, no. Most suitors had given up trying for her hand; most did not want to face her over protective father, lord magnus’s chief advisor, and Vallon. Vallon wanted the best for her, so maybe he had threatened a few of them, and maybe he had started a few rumors about a couple others, but really those men were not worthy of Elia. He knew eventually she would have to marry, but for now, he’d much rather threaten and drive them away before he had to kill one for hurting her. Be proactive,” was one of his mottoes.
He made it to the palace in almost record time and rushed to his chambers to wash and change before he sought out Elia. He dressed himself in clean pants, still a brown, unless their fathers ordered it, he still favored earth tones. He did put on a royal blue doublet that was emblazoned with the lion and falcon of his house. He started to put on the glove he wore when Skye, his own falcon was present, but then took it back off. Skye was away, it was mating season, and she was probably off tending to that. He knew that his faithful bird would return when she was ready. Vallon finished getting ready by tying his dark chocolate hair back from his face with a leather thong. When left to its own devices it came almost to his shoulders, but he often wore it tied back.
The last lingering rays of the sun were just disappearing behind the rolling mountains, coated in their blanket of trees when he made it to Elia’s chambers and stepped silently as the cat that was one of his household emblems. He could see Elia still trying to paint despite the late hour and the dwindling light. When Maria, the noble woman’s servant, rose to cover Elia with her cloak, Vallon was there to take it from her. “Allow me.” He said in his deep voice, seeming even deeper because of how quiet he spoke.
“It is a fine likeness little one,” he said regarding her painting with his eye which was well accustomed to noticing detail. It was something they shared, an attention to detail. “You can even see old farmer Gunther chasing his cows.” He said, a touch of admiration in his voice as his hands draped the cloak around her shoulders. His hands rubbing her shoulders for just a second, transferring some of his warmth to her bare skin. “You would not be so cold if you wore more clothing…. But, do not get me wrong you look more than lovely in that dress.” He said taking a step back hands raised palms out in a placating gesture, realizing that he might have spared himself from a tongue lashing by complimenting her painting, but he had undone all his good work with his following comment.
By The Gladiator and LingeringDesire
Night was slowly drawing closer. The night sounds slowly becoming more prominent as the day sounds faded with the setting sun. The sunset was a riotous bloom of fiery reds and oranges; however they were not visible through the thick tree cover that covered the slopes of the mountains. A man knelt among those trees. He was oblivious to the beauty of the sunset, for his keen green eyes were trained on the carpet of pine needles before him rather than upwards into the heavens.
Long fingers delved into the soft loam, moving some leaves aside to get a better look at the boot print in the mud. Although heir to the throne and leader of all military forces in the land, this man still felt at home in the woods on his own. This to him was familiar, not the clamor of a battle field command tent, but him and the wilderness.
He knew this feeling came from the 5 years he spent in the military as a scout and ranger. His father had been almost horrified to hear that his son, when told he would have his pick of assignments for his mandatory military service had chosen not to become a knight and live in the lap of luxury. No, this son of the lord Magnus had chosen to serve as a scout in the common army. “Serving our people as just sir Vallon is not what they need and not my calling. I will show them I am no better than they are.”
Near to 10 years later, the much reluctant “Sir Vallon” was now a knight, and military commander, however he still preferred these times, when his men consulted his expertise not as their leader, but as one of them. And indeed, contrary to his father’s beliefs and the people had never known a commander or a man like Vallon. Vallon had never stooped to bragging to his father that was not his way, his actions spoke louder than his words, and the people’s love for their prince, the people’s commander, as they called him was evident.
“Is it not as I said m’lord?” the voice of swiftbird, the scout who had drawn Vallon out of the city broke The quiet of the evening, shattering the peace of Vallon’s inner reverie, his contemplation of what he saw before him.
“Vallon grunted his assent as he considered the track for another moment and then finally he spoke. His voice came out in a rich baritone, smooth and melodic, “Aye, it is not a track from any of our people. It would have taken a skilled ranger or scout to spot the subtle differences in boot treads.” He said, swiftbird’s face brightening at the older man’s compliment. Vallon’s finger traced the boot print as he spoke, “As you can see here, based on the pattern I would say it is Rercarian.” He said referencing a neighboring country, one in which they had been at war with on and off for most of his lifetime. “But whether it is a scout for a prelude to war, or an emissary coming to parley we really cannot say.”
Placing his hands on his knees Vallon rose smoothly with a catlike grace. He stood to his full 6 foot height and wiped the dirt from his hands onto the green and brown trousers he wore, pants designed to help him blend into the forest surrounding him. “You have done good work, and keep me appraised if you see anything.” He ordered clapping the other man on the shoulder. Swiftbird nodded as he watched his commander walk off.
Emerging from the curtain of trees, Vallon found himself overlooking the town and across the way he could see the castle with its spires and turrets. Although he could not see it, he could imagine his best friend’s balcony halfway up the wall facing the town. She would be painting he was sure, an activity that was her favorite pastime, or so she wanted the world to think. On the contrary Vallon suspected her favorite times were when he took her hunting and fishing, got her off the palace grounds and out of her gilded prison. However, these trips were somewhat of a secret, so to the public eye her favorite pastime was painting as befit a proper lady. After all, proper ladies did not stick their thumb down the throat of a river trout to rip out its guts, or Practice knife throwing around a fire eating deer she had just cooked over the open flames. A slight smile twisted Vallon’s lips at those thoughts. Glancing up, Vallon saw how far the sun had sunk in the sky and swore to himself. He was late, and Vallon knew if he did not pick up his pace, even he would not be immune to a tongue lashing from Elia.
Picking up his pace, the young nobleman wondered not for the first time why he had agreed to this. The answer was simple enough, his childhood friend had smiled at him and unable to refuse her anything he had agreed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to learn to dance, I will need to be married someday, and my wife to be will want me to not look a fool.” One might wonder why she had to beg her best friend to practice dancing with her, could she not just use another male, perhaps a potential suitor. The answer to that was of course, no. Most suitors had given up trying for her hand; most did not want to face her over protective father, lord magnus’s chief advisor, and Vallon. Vallon wanted the best for her, so maybe he had threatened a few of them, and maybe he had started a few rumors about a couple others, but really those men were not worthy of Elia. He knew eventually she would have to marry, but for now, he’d much rather threaten and drive them away before he had to kill one for hurting her. Be proactive,” was one of his mottoes.
He made it to the palace in almost record time and rushed to his chambers to wash and change before he sought out Elia. He dressed himself in clean pants, still a brown, unless their fathers ordered it, he still favored earth tones. He did put on a royal blue doublet that was emblazoned with the lion and falcon of his house. He started to put on the glove he wore when Skye, his own falcon was present, but then took it back off. Skye was away, it was mating season, and she was probably off tending to that. He knew that his faithful bird would return when she was ready. Vallon finished getting ready by tying his dark chocolate hair back from his face with a leather thong. When left to its own devices it came almost to his shoulders, but he often wore it tied back.
The last lingering rays of the sun were just disappearing behind the rolling mountains, coated in their blanket of trees when he made it to Elia’s chambers and stepped silently as the cat that was one of his household emblems. He could see Elia still trying to paint despite the late hour and the dwindling light. When Maria, the noble woman’s servant, rose to cover Elia with her cloak, Vallon was there to take it from her. “Allow me.” He said in his deep voice, seeming even deeper because of how quiet he spoke.
“It is a fine likeness little one,” he said regarding her painting with his eye which was well accustomed to noticing detail. It was something they shared, an attention to detail. “You can even see old farmer Gunther chasing his cows.” He said, a touch of admiration in his voice as his hands draped the cloak around her shoulders. His hands rubbing her shoulders for just a second, transferring some of his warmth to her bare skin. “You would not be so cold if you wore more clothing…. But, do not get me wrong you look more than lovely in that dress.” He said taking a step back hands raised palms out in a placating gesture, realizing that he might have spared himself from a tongue lashing by complimenting her painting, but he had undone all his good work with his following comment.
